Tom Riddle and the Knights of Walpurgis
by Furrina
Summary: What if instead of refusing Lord Voldemort when he applied for the DADA job, Dumbledore gave it to him? This is a story of Lord Voldemort, the up and coming Dark Lord became Professor Tom Marvolo Riddle... the most loved professor in the History of Hogwarts.
1. Prologue - A Future Destroyed

**A/N**: This story is Canon compliant with **Lord Voldemort's** history until he returns to Hogwarts the second time.

As such, Tom has already started making Horcruxes - at least 4 - and is very influential with the Ministry and the Purebloods, but isn't really the "Dark Lord" as yet.

Also, there are no formal Death Eaters, just very influential and prejudiced Slytherins who stick together calling themselves "The Knights of Walpurgis" (proto-DEs).

* * *

**March 2013**

Tom Riddle, in his bid for Pureblood Supremacy, targeted large amounts of Muggle populace, effectively destroying the **Magical Secrecy and Muggle Protection Act.**

**June 2001** marked yet another change of regime in Muggle England. The only difference between the new Prime Minister and all the others was that, unlike his predecessors, this Prime Minister did not take the existence of another World within his, over which he had no jurisdiction... or the fact that a Civil War within that realm had more or less destroyed _their_ world... kindly.

The news that _leaked_ out of the PM's Office, and the Conspiracy Theories that followed, led to a serious panic among the masses. As the panic escalated to sky-high proportions, the Government proposed a bill which called out the Regulation and Control of those suspected with Magic.

As less and less Magical folk started coming forward to "get branded", more and more people started calling out more and more extreme majors to control the "Freakishness" from spreading.

The Sanctuary of the Wizarding World, the revered Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, fell around 2008, when one of the more disgruntled Muggleborns, whose family had suffered during the War, betrayed its location to the Extremists.

The Witch hunts and "suspected" Witch burnings started somewhere around late 2011. As the Sympathizers argued about the inhuman treatments meted out to the Witches, the Extremists argued that _The Freaks_ were not humans at all.

And trapped among the two debating factions, their numbers down to almost nil, the Magical Community dispersed among the Muggles, living in fear of being caught...


	2. September 1945 - A Suggestion

**A/N: **The Story begins a couple of years after Tom Riddle graduated from Hogwarts - around the time when Muggle World is still reeling the aftermaths of WWII and Wizarding World from the Grindelwald War.

* * *

**September 1945 - A Suggestion**

Headmaster Dippet stood in the centre of the clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, head slightly bowed in deference to his companions – the Centaur, Bane, and their Divination Professor, and one of _the_ most respected Seers, Tiresias Mopsus.

Ever since he had rejected the young Slytherin's offer to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, the whole office was in an uproar. As soon as the young boy had left, his immediate predecessor had invoked a conference of all the Headmasters – present and past – and brought to his attention the almost forgotten clause in the Hogwarts Rulebook.

Then he had been summoned by the Divination Professor who had all but blamed him for putting whole of Wizardkind in "danger like no other" and for starting the chain of events that would ultimately lead to the destruction of the "life as we know it".

"The stars had spoken," Bane said breaking into his thoughts. "Your reckless actions have put the life as we know it in mortal peril. As such only _you_ can put the things to right, and set the events back on their natural path."

"But is there no other way?" Headmaster asked, a last ditch effort to save face.

"I'm afraid _this_ is the only way," Professor Mopsus replied as Bane impatiently hoofed the ground.

"But Professor Dumbledore said..."

"Dumbledore is a fool!" Bane thundered. "He is as conniving as a wily fox and as ambitious as a Helene Macbeth. Not too mention, it was he who helped Grindelwa-"

"Bane!" Mopsus warned. Bane snorted but went quiet. "Heed my words Headmaster," he continued. "The path you choose now will determine the fate of the _entire _Wizarding World for generations to come. We are barely recovering from the last Crusades, forced into hiding because of the prejudices of the ignorant few. We cannot risk another setback like that again."

Headmaster bowed again, defeated. "What should I do?"

"Grant him the position of his choice," Mopsus suggested quietly. "And make it so that he cannot harm our way of life."

"Is that your suggestion?" Headmaster asked, looking between the Seer and the Centaur.

"That is our Command!" the Centaur thundered in a voice that broke no argument.

The Headmaster sighed tiredly, nodded in defeat, then bowed out of the meet. He had contracts to draw up.

* * *

**A/N 2:** Both Bane and Seer Mopsus are **JKR's** creations. While Bane made a couple of appearances as the Centuar who clearly hated Wizards' guts, Mopsus was discarded because apparently he was too... ehm..._good_ at his job.

The first name "Tiresius" is based on the Blind Prophet in Greek Mythology famous for his Clairvoyance.

Lady Macbeth's first name "Helene" is also from the top of my head since Old Willie never bothered.


	3. 12 years later - A Proposition

**A/N: **Because Tom Riddle is not the only Slytherin around.

* * *

**12 years later (c. '57-58)**

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster's chair absently fiddling with his half-moon glasses. The day had been particularly quiet, until Lord Voldemort had written requesting a meeting. He had stipulated that he wanted to meet regarding an offer he had made the Former Headmaster and Albus had already decided what his answer was going to be.

The gargoyle at the foot of the stairs announced a visitor and Albus waved his acceptance. A cursory knock at the door, then a Wizard walked into the room – his once handsome face distorted beyond proportion, a sneer pasted on his pale face.

"Headmasterrrr," Lord Voldemort spoke, offering the older man his hand.

The Headmaster ignored the hand to take a sit, behind his desk. "Sherbet Lemon?"

Lord Voldemort waved away the sweet and took a seat, uninvited. "How are you, Professsor?" he asked.

The Headmaster gave a noncommittal answer. "How can I help you, my boy?" he asked, his eyes not-so-twinkling in mirth.

"I have come to renew my propostionnnnn," Lord Voldemort replied, coming straight to the point. "I want to apply for the position of Instructor for Defensse Against the Dark Artsss."

"I'm afraid we have already appointed Professor Salinger to the post for the foreseeable future. Perhaps we can come to some other arran—"

"That's enough," Lord Voldemort stood up. He had never had any patience for that old Gryffindor fool, anyhow. "Since you won't give me thisss posssition, I hereby curs—"

"Wait!" the voice cut through the room breaking into his rant.

He looked at the source of the interruption to see former Headmaster Dippet sitting alert in his portrait. The portraits of previous Headmasters were all alert to the proceedings of the room. "The job is yours," he stated.

"With all due respect Headmaster..." Dumbledore looked at his predecessor with an air of condescension.

"It's not your decision Albus," the Former Headmaster answered with a dismissive wave. "As per the promise I made during my tenure as a Headmaster, Mr. Riddle's contracts were drawn up the same day he first made the proposition. Take a sit, Mr. Riddle."

Lord Voldemort smirked at the indignant current Headmaster and returned to his seat. "Thank you, Headmaster Dippet. I'm sure you and I will have great working relationship."

"I'm sure we will," the former Headmaster replied with a placid smile. "Albus..." the former Headmaster turned his attention to his successor. "If you will please tap the bottom most drawer on the left side of your desk and call out Mr. Riddle's _Christian_ name..."

Headmaster Dumbledore looked at his predecessor and, mentally cursing the unjust proceedings, relented. He pulled out two bound scrolls from the said drawers and, as per instructions, placed them on his desk, in full view of all the previous Headmasters.

"I agree, Headmaster Dumbledore, that these are extraordinary circumstances," Headmaster Dippet continued with a slight waver in his voice. "But as per section 356, subsection 56D, clause A of the Hogwarts Rules Book, no Witch or Wizard can be denied the_inherent_ right to nurture and educate the young, and impart the knowledge of customs and traditions of their House and/or skill of their choosing. And as for Mr. Riddle's choice of skill, I think we can all unanimously agree that as of today Mr. Riddle is the foremost authority on the subjects of Dark Arts, bar none. Who else to educate the future generations to prevent rise of another_Grindelwald_?"

Professor Dumbledore winced at the dig, then turned to stare at the man before him, all the trace of mirth gone from his eyes. Lord Voldemort crooned internally.

"_How-ever_," the former Headmaster continued in the same distance tone. "The Council of Headmasters is NOT unaware of Mr. Riddle's progress in Wizarding world since his graduation from Hogwarts. And it's safe to assume that Professor Dumbledore's concerns are not completely unjustified."

It was Dumbledore's turn to smirk – a little twinkle back in those shrewd eyes – and Lord Voldemort stared at the portraits in open astonishment.

"Now, now, dear child, don't look so horrified," Headmaster Scamander spoke from Dippet's left. "We cannot refuse a person his basic right based on few indiscretions of his youth" he said, winking at the incredulous _Dark_ _Lord_. Dumbledore squirmed again. "Every one has a right to start his life afresh. And as you have admitted to having a _genuine_ interest in nurturing the young minds, we will grant you that chance. But... as Master Dippet said, we _have_ been following your all progress – both on the Light side and the Dark – ever since you first showed interest in the position... and you can understand our apprehension."

"Professor Dumbledore," Dippet took over again. "If you will please give one of the scrolls to Mr. Riddle and take one for yourself."

Dumbledore, clearly at loss, handed one scroll to a still dumbstruck Riddle, and waited for further instructions. Former Headmaster Black swished his painted wand and the two scrolls opened at the exact same time – "to prevent any underhandedness on both parts," Dippet said apologetically.

"If you will carefully read the contracts..." The room fell silent as the Council of Headmasters waited for them to finish reading.

Lord Voldemort was the first one. "_This!_ This Is _The Most_ Insulting Piece Of Composition I've _Ever_ Read. I will never consent to such indignities. NEVER!" he thundered, rattling the windows. "I _will_ take my revenge for this—"

"Sit. Down, Child," Headmaster Phineus Nigellus Black commanded.

Lord Voldemort stopped mid-rant and whisked his wand out, throwing a curse at the portrait. The curse ricocheted and Lord Voldemort barely ducked as the curse flew back at him and shattered a vase behind him. Immediately the pieces congregated and the vase was restored.

"As you may well know Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said with a slight exasperation. "The room and its occupants are protected by the inherent magic of the Castle. No harm can come to anything within the room without the Castle's permission. You may as well listen to what the Council has to say..." he removed the crescent-shaped glasses to rub the bridge of nose.

Lord Voldemort glared at the Headmaster with his beady reddish eyes and, twisting this thin-lipped mouth in a distasteful smirk, retook his seat.

"Thank you," Dippet said, gesturing to the parchment-contracts again. "If you read the contracts carefully, you will understand that when Mr. Riddle was refused his position the first time, I inadvertently revoked one of the Fundamental Principles on which This Precious Institution is built. To protect the future of Wizardkind from the repercussions of my actions, it was decided by the Council – with blessing from the Founders – that should you return again, you would be granted your request."

He waited for the words to sink in – Lord Voldemort nodded absently – then continued. "And when you _did_ return with the same request, you knowingly, or unknowingly, appealed to the Founders to put that rule in enforcement."

"Invoking such ancient and powerful magic is not without consequences, my boy," Headmaster Scamander said. "I'm afraid the moment you bespoke your desire, your forfeited the right to refuse the terms of the contract."

"But what if I still refuse," Lor— Riddle asked uncertainly. He had read the terms again while the Council were blathering, but...

_"You will refuse on the condition of losing your magic and forgoing all contact with Wizarding world,"_ Headmaster Black snapped.

Both Lord Voldemort and Headmaster Dumbledore gaped at the revelation. Voldemort recovered first. He threw his head back and cackled manically. "That doesn't faze me," he replied haughtily. "I have made other arrangements..."

"Ah yes, your _Horcruxes_," Headmaster Black said nonchalantly. Dumbledore gaped openly at his former Student, while Voldemort visibly paled, or rather... turned white. "We know all about it, my lad. Not everyone appreciates the Grey Lady and she loves to show off the paltry few of admirers she has. And Horace has a rather loose tongue, particularly in the company of Aonghas McGonagall's rather infamous home-brew," he added with a smirk. Even Dumbledore couldn't suppress a sneaker at that.

"And someone as proficient in the Dark Arts as you _must_ know that, unlike Muggles, a Wizard's soul is the source of his magic. The battered the soul, the weaker is the Wizard," he waited for Voldemort to process his words.

"I'm afraid the Headmaster is right Mr. Riddle," Scamander seconded. "If you refuse our offer and lose your magic, your Horcruxes with be naught but meaningless trinkets. And you will be cursed to live the existence of a Muggle, going back to the past you have strived so hard to escape."

Voldemort suddenly left very sick. He wasn't weak but the thought of going back into _that_ world... without magic, without the possibility of ever coming back again... was worse than the fright of breaking pieces of his soul to delay his inevitable death. He gripped on the arms of his chair till his knuckles turned white.

"Albert!" Dippet reprimanded, even as Lord Vol—Tom gaped at the casual, almost careless attiude with which these so-called professors were taking his life and his _magic_. "How..." Tom's found himself speaking before his mind registered that he was. "How can you be so _calm_ about thisss?"

"Mr. Riddle," Professor Dippet answered. "Child... you are young and far too inexperienced to think that you have any control life or magic. Many a great wizard have tried and failed where you have succeeded ..." he let his gaze linger towards Dumbledore who was sitting back in his chair. "But the true test of character comes in knowing which battles to choose."

"You are naught but a fool, Tom," Phineus continued where his successor left off. "Merope was a half-wit who couldn't brew a decent _Amortentia_ to save her life and your father is a Muggle." Tom flinched at the blatant truth. "Did you _really _ think you could outwit your Teachers and the Founders... the very people who lay the _foundation_ of the Wizarding World? The only reason you've come as far as you have, is because of the blood in your veins. A _Founder's_ blood."

Tom looked down in sudden shame, feeling uncharacteristically like that eleven year old in the orphanage who had no idea of his true heritage. He cleared his throat and sneaked a glance at Dumbledore, the man who had introduced him to this world, who was now smirking in his seat. _Oh, what wouldn't he have given to look as complacently smug as this rat-bastard._

He twisted his face back into his familiar scowl – _It would be a hot day in Hell when he would let these phony, self-righteous arses make a fool of Lord Voldemort - _his mind already conjuring ways to get out of this binding contract unscathed. "Then there is no more to talk about," he said, as an idea came to him. As a professor he would have unrestricted access to the libraries. Then he could study and find a way to work out the kinks in his plans and strengthen his Horcruxes. "With_ due respect_ , let us conclude the meet. I would prefer to go about my duties at the earliest notice..."

"Not so fast, my boy," Albus Dumbledore finally getting over his initial shock, the all-knowing twinkle back in his eyes. "We have to sign the contracts and fulfil a few _obligations _first."

Tom Riddle – formerly known as Lord Voldemort – smirked, sparing a glance at the Council of Headmasters that was looking expectantly at the duo. "What must I do?" he asked, his beady red eyes sparkling just a little bit.

Professor Dippet nodded at Dumbledore who smiled – his beady blue eyes twinkling shrewdly – and produced two quills. "If you will please sign here, _Professor_ Riddle."


	4. Poppy Pomphrey's Promise

**A/N****: **Warnings for witch burning, Non-con Chan/Loli, mentions of miscarriages, abusing power...

Also special thanks to **Kate Elizabeth Black,** the First and _Only _follower. You are my shining light :D

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Persephone Edwards was eight when her mother was burned at stake for Witchcraft. It would be _years _ before she found out that her mother had been punished for _her _ accidental magic.

Abandoned by her family and cast out of the village, Persephone – lovingly called Poppy by her mother – found her way to the nearby forest, where an old reclusive healer by the name of Richard Pomphrey showed mercy on her by taking her into his home. Along with his home, he also took her into his bed.

Poppy was 11 when she first became heavy with her Lord-Master's child. When her body deemed itself too young and incapable of bearing just yet, Master Pomphrey began teaching her the subtle arts of Herbology and Potion Making to prevent from such _accidents _from happening in the future.

Poppy was 13 when Master Pomphrey found out that he had unwittingly taken _a witch_ into his bed. However, instead of casting her out and alerting the villagers, as her father had done, Master Pomphrey simply told her that she was blessed… not cursed. Then he contacted an old acquaintance of his, a man by the name of Armando Dippet, who performed some spells on her and determined that yes, she was a witch and yes, it would be able to teach her to use her blessing for betterment of others.

Master Pomphrey refused to let her leave with Headmaster Dippet, saying he couldn't possibly let her out of his sight, but he did allow Poppy to learn the art of controlling and channeling her magic. He paid for her books, her wand and when the right time came, he had Headmaster Dippet find a Wizard willing to take her as his Apprentice and teach her everything there was to know about the science of Magical Healing.

Poppy was 18, when a mysterious illness claimed Master Pomphrey, leaving her behind as a young widow, 6 months gone. The child did not survive the birth, and her magic was the only thing that prevented her from bleeding to death.

Scared, alone and penniless, Poppy gathered what little belongings she had and made her way towards Edinburgh and, from then on, further up North, relying on her survival instincts, Magic and skills as a Healer to reach Hogwarts, Headmaster Dippet's school for young witches and wizards.

Headmaster Dippet was sympathetic of her circumstances, but without formal training as a Witch or a Healer, there was only so much he could do. He offered her a position as the school nurse, paying for whatever additional training she might need for patching up Quidditch injuries and frostbites.

As the years went on, Poppy became better and better at her job of keeping the young under her charge from coming to any harm… and every once in a while she came across someone who reminded her of her younger self.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was one such young boy.

-x-x-x-

Poppy had no idea what was it about young Master Riddle that attracted her to him.

He was good-looking… yes, extremely brilliant… yes, extremely powerful… yes, but not only that, his eyes had rare sparkle… something she had seen in her brother's eyes, when she was a wee bonnie lass, before he had been taken from her. Unlike all the other students, he had a charisma about him – strange allure that pulled you in like Highland mires.

Along with it, however, he had a temper. A temper that rivaled no other. He was also extremely prejudiced against those of inferior blood.

But while some saw his temper as an occasional folly of a young red-blooded lad, and others his power and prejudices as a means to fame and glory, she knew it was a defense mechanism. Like an injured snake, who lashed out at the slightest notice, whether you are the one that harmed it or not, young Tom hated all Muggles, because he had been severely wronged by a few. He hated those in position of authority, because not only they hadn't helped him, they had abused their positions to humiliate and _use_ him…

And Poppy knew exactly how that felt. She knew it was only a matter of time before injured snake would turn feral, and it would only be through love and care that he would be able to keep from giving into his base nature. And Unbound by House and Blood prejudices, Poppy was determined to be that support.

-x-x-x-

Tom Riddle was 15 and Poppy was 35, when her loyalty to him was first tested.

A few days ago someone had gotten into Salazar Slytherin's notorious Chamber of Secrets and released a Basilisk into the school. A young Muggle-blood girl by the name of Myrtle was killed and a young boy Rubeus Hagrid was framed and expelled for endangering the young 'urns.

But Poppy knew that Rebeus was about as capable of getting inside the Chamber of Secrets as her mother had been of Witchcraft, which is to say, naught.

Then one night, when Tom was laid in the infirmary with flu he started thrashing with nightmares. A part of Poppy's mind-healing techniques involved Legilimencing the patient and soothing his nightmares from within – her Mentor had honed in time and again that it was a Healer's job to offer respite and cure whether the patient was willing or not – a practice that Vice Headmaster Dumbledore didn't approve of.

So, she silently breached her into young Master Riddle's mind, focusing solely on the source of his night-terrors, bypassing everything else, when she chanced upon a memory of him hissing at the Basilisk, petting it. From the interactions, it seemed that the snake understood whatever Tom was hissing… making her suspect that _he _ was the elusive Heir of Slytherin. Suddenly, Tom turned around and looked straight at her. Poppy fell out his mind the exact instant Tom gasped awake.

"T'was you," she said conversationally, watching steadily for his reaction. The boy fidgeted, then sneered, raising his wand. "Obli—" he started, but she waved her hand and his wand flew across the room. "Do'na try that with me, boy," she said. "I am older 'en you, and I do'na take kindly ta people that willfully wrong others."

"Are you going to tell on me?" the boy asked, his voice and posture calm, but fear and nervousness exuding from his body.

Poppy thought for a bit. "Propriety dictates I should," she replied. The boy seemed to shrink in on himself. "But I'm not goin' ta," she added, waiting for his response.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Truth be told, even Poppy had no idea. Propriety dictated she should give him up, right the wrong that had been done to that Hagrid boy. But she also knew that expelled and wronged as he was, Rubeus was taken in by Vice Headmaster Dumbledore. He would nurture the boy and help him rise in the world. If Tom was cast out, he would fall further into the pit of despair he was in. And who knew where that darkness might lead him.

Poppy might not have birthed Tom, but she had always likened him to the little boy she had lost. And like all mothers, she was selfish enough to believe that while her child might not be the most perfect in the world, he was not bad of heart… just a little wayward. And like all mothers, she believed that one day he _would_ find his way back to her.

"Does'na matter," she replied firmly, looking deep into his teal-grey eyes. "I will'na tell on ya, but only if ya give yo'r Oath that such incidents will'na happen ag'in."

-x-x-x-

It was almost 15 years to the day Poppy had received Tom Riddle's promise that he would never willingly harm another soul. Which was why she was extremely _hurt _ when he turned up in her infirmary, clutching a letter address to her from Headmaster Dumbledore.

Poppy had never been adept at high-level Magic and Dark Arts, but she knew enough to know that to create a Horcrux, a person had to be willing to break his soul. And for that, he had to willingly destroy a life.

"'ow many have ya made?" she asked with a professional countenance of an uninterested third party.

The man looked at her, looking every bit as the young boy of 15 years prior, and mumbled "Just one."

"The truth, Mr. Riddle," she said sternly. "I believe I've tol' ya 'bout the consequences of lyin' ta me."

Lord Voldemort didn't know what bothered him more – her calm aloofness, or the fact she seemed disappointed with his actions. He didn't know why she had that effect over him. Maybe it was because she was the only person who had seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare… or maybe in some remote corner of his mind, he had come to see her as the mother he never had. And he knew it was only a matter of time before she decided that he wasn't worth the trouble he caused. Like all the people in his life, she would leave him… and he was determined to alienate her first.

"Four," he spat. "I made four Horcruxes. Killed quite a few people too. I'm not the same boy that you once knew," he added with a deep sneer. "I am not Tom Riddle anymore. I am Lord Voldemort."

Poppy looked at him, disappointment shining in her eyes, but her outward expression remained professionally aloof. "Maybe so," she replied. "But now, yo'r a teacher of this prestigious Institution and yo'r decorum should reflect that. There'll be no more killin' and maimin'… not if I've some' ta say 'bout that. A'so there'll be no stealin' nor making any 'orcruxes."

"Why?" he sneered, but his voice had a minuscule quaver to it. "Why do you care what I do or don't do? Why do you care at all? Everyone else has given up on me. My soul is destroyed and broken. There is no way to salvage me anymore."

She raised her hand to stop him, as her face took on a contemplative expression. "I do'na believe that," she said sincerely. "There is nothing in this world that can'na be cured. My Master taught me that. And I do'na believe that you are a bad person."

She looked in his eyes and spoke. "You asked me once why I never gave ya up." She waited for him to remember. "I should'a tol' ya the truth then, then we would'na be here. I've al'ays liken'd ya ta my son." She waited for her words to sink in, and when they did Tom Riddle turned slightly grey. "An' like any mother I believe in ya, son. I will'na let the Dark claim ya anymore 'en I'll abandon ya for yo'r mistakes. So lis'en ta me, an' lis'en _good_. I will stitch that soul back together if that's the last thing I do. And _if_ ya do'na lis'en ta me anymore, the Headmaster and Ministry will be the least of yo'r worries. Ya get that, boy?" she asked, steel in her steady voice.

And with the strength and determination with which a young lass had survived – her mother's burning, her family's abandonment, her childhood destroyed – a life marked out by people more privileged and powerful than her without any consideration to _her _ wants or needs, she set about the most dangerous and difficult task that no one had undertaken since the Dark Ages – stitching a torn soul back together.

* * *

**Persephone** (Greco-Roman mythology) stands for the formidable, venerable majestic queen of the Underworld who was kidnapped by Hades (Pluto).

Her central myth served as the context for the secret rites of regeneration at Eleusis which promised immortality to initiates.


End file.
